


Take A Bite of My Spark Tonight

by zuzeca



Category: Transformers (Bay Movies), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Because Michael Bay Loves His Macguffins, Character Death, Character Turned Into Vampire, Dubious Consent, M/M, Murder, Rough Sex, Spark Sex, Sticky Sex, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-07
Updated: 2013-05-07
Packaged: 2017-12-10 15:10:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/787430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zuzeca/pseuds/zuzeca
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Allspark fails to bring back Megatron fully intact. Post-ROTF  Optimus/Megatron.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take A Bite of My Spark Tonight

**Author's Note:**

> Another repost from the kinkmeme, for [this request](http://community.livejournal.com/tfanonkink/3587.html?thread=5468931#t5468931), which asked for Optimus stumbling upon a vampiric Megatron making a kill, whereupon sexing ensues.Takes place post-ROTF and is significantly less cracky than the very silly title would imply. Also heads up for incest (insofar as I went with the Bayverse, “brothers/twin sparks” scenario, which I don’t actually see as incest, but FYI). Dedicating this to Michael Bay, who provided the wacky plot devices which allowed me to write it semi-logically. Happy reading.

Something was wrong.

He found himself unable to concentrate. His circuitry felt strained, as though he were starved for energon. His energy field, usually a powerful, constant hum, was almost nonexistent, a low tone which only occasionally pulsed and flared, spiking as though he were experiencing arousal. 

He was supposed to be debriefing a newly arrived scout, Scrapper, on the success of his mission, but his attention kept being directed inward, trying to tamp down on his recalcitrant energy field.

“My lord?”

The scout must have noticed his lack of attention, “Go on.”

“Of course, my lord.”

Scrapper continued to drone on about the mission, a new plan currently being concocted by the Autobots and the small, irritating organics which were their allies. Vertigo suddenly surged, and his energy field blazed up, threatening to buckle him where he stood.

“My lord? Are you…alright?”

He forced his attention back to the small, tan scout. Scrapper looked distinctly uncomfortable.

Of course, he’d all but propositioned the other mech, and with no little subtlety. Considering he wasn’t one to take his pleasure among the rank and file, the discomfiture was unsurprising. He opened his mouth to dismiss the concern, but another surge of energy struck him and he wavered.

“My lord, may I…assist you?” The scout didn’t do anything so insulting as reach out physically, but the concerned puzzlement in his voice was genuine.

Embarrassing as it was, with his field jumping and spiking like a newly protoformed hatchling, now that he considered it, release might calm the backlog of charge in his circuitry. He made a sound of assent, “You may.”

“Thank you, my lord.” And Scrapper reached out with claws and field, stroked down his armored forearms, the only parts the scout could easily reach, and pressed up against his own field. 

That first touch of energy sparked an inferno in his circuitry. He could suddenly think of nothing but getting the small scout under him. He gripped Scrapper by the shoulders and hauled him up against him, his field striking out and engulfing the other mech. Scrapper ventilated sharply and started to say something, but he’d already thrown them down in the dirt.

His battle computer informed him that doing this in the open was probably less than wise, but at this point his processor was barely functioning beyond _wantneedtake_. Scrapper grunted as he landed on top of him, probably denting a few things in the process, but willingly opened his interface panel, exposing himself.

Problem was, that wasn’t what he wanted. His own panel was still locked tight. He clawed at the small tan chassis. He could feel the energy pulsing beneath the armor; he wanted that heat, that light. He wanted Scrapper’s _spark_.

There was a moment when he thought Scrapper might actually refuse him. Spark-sharing was rarely done among Decepticons; for their leader to demand it, and of a low-ranking scout no less, was unheard of.

But strange or not, he was still leader and the hesitation lasted no more than a blink. The chassis split before him and there it was, glowing with the force of a small star, pulsing with heat and light and _life_.

Something clicked in his processor, some vital subroutine engaged. His chassis didn’t open, instead his head snapped forward with the force of a striking snake. He latched onto the spark, electricity crackling across his fangs.

And he drew.

Charge flushed along his circuitry, filling him, pulsing and swelling through wires and resistors. Some deep part of his processor roared in triumph.

Dimly, he was aware of small arms clawing uselessly at his helm, but he ignored them, pulling the energy into himself, consuming it.

The arms had stopped struggling.

The spark flared, strained, and then winked out beneath his fangs.

Satiated to the point of being overcharged, he lifted his head. Scrapper was limp beneath him, a lifeless shell.

Slowly he sat back, stared at the body.

For the first time in cycles, he felt sated, calm. His energy field hummed at its normal levels.

This…could be problematic.

 

Starscream didn’t say a word when he dragged the shell of the scout back into the base, tossing it at a nearby soldier with the terse instruction, “Recycle that.” But he followed him down the hall to his quarters.

“Is it too much to hope that you dredged his processor for information before slagging him?”

“Silence, fool.”

“We may outnumber the Autobots, but those numbers are not hard and fast. With the Allspark gone, our soldiers are not endless.”

“I am aware of the current troop status.”

“I only ask, Mighty Megatron, because I simply cannot comprehend what that little slip of a scout might have done to incur your wrath.”

He wheeled around and seized Starscream, drawing him in close, bringing his height and mass to bear, “He questioned my orders; is that sufficient for you, Air Commander? You might consider that next time you feel the urge to run your vocalizer needlessly.”

“As you say, my lord.” Despite the concession, the expression on Starscream’s face was anything but submissive. Those sharp, intelligent optics were watching him. Disgusted, he tossed the other mech aside and stalked down the hall.

“Perhaps you might post a comprehensive list of soldier behaviors which could be avoided in the interest of continued function.”

It was a sign of his own internal unbalance that he didn’t put a cannon hole in Starscream for that comment.

 

The next few solar cycles, he’d been well, circuitry working at peak efficiency, energy field well within nominal levels. But then it crept in again, the strain, the strange energy pulses, the starved, restless feeling.

He was no fool, whatever his Air Commander’s thoughts on the matter. He knew what he needed. He knew it had begun after his bizarre resurrection.

He could only guess that he’d been brought back, _wrong_. The shattered Allspark must have been unable to fully restore him. It was the only logical explanation for his cravings for spark energy.

He’d put it off as long as possible. He even attempted to track down an Autobot, but he’d been unable to corner one alone. Since he was unsure of his vulnerability during the…feeding, he didn’t dare try to take one on the battlefield.

And then, inevitably, he ignored it for too long.

He was perched on a canyon cliff with a soldier, a thick-processor grunt who was nonetheless clever enough to be nervous around him. His temper had been growing shorter lately.

They were on the trail of an Autobot energy signature. They hadn’t been able to pinpoint an identity, but the main roads funneled through the canyon. Ground-bound, the Autobot would have to pass through it sooner or later.

He hadn’t spoken to the soldier since they’d arrived; most of his processor space was focused upon trying to keep himself under control. Maybe he could knock out the soldier and take down the Autobot himself. A few more cycles of satiation might give him the time to come up with a solution to his…problem.

The plan was sounding better and better to his starved processor. He turned to the soldier, “Come, let us go down into the canyon.”

The grunt stared stupidly at him, “The canyon, but didn’t you say we were going to—?”

“Do not question me. We will ambush the Autobot in the canyon.”

The soldier snapped to attention, “Of course, Lord Megatron.”

They dropped from the canyon walls, thrusters engaging to slow their descent. He didn’t hesitate, merely backhanded the grunt across the back of the helm as soon as they touched down, before he could get his feet beneath him. The soldier dropped like a stone.

He scooped up the offline mech, meaning to deposit him behind a pile of boulders, but the instant he touched the soldier his own energy field flared out, probing, touching circuitry. He staggered, dropping the body. He could practically taste the other bot’s spark, hot and heavy and immediate.

He had a moment to curse his lack of control before he was on top of the mech, already clawing his way into his chassis.

 

There was a Depticon energy signature emanating from the blind canyon up along the road. Perhaps more than one; the dense rocks made it difficult to get a clear reading.

Optimus wasn’t sure what they were up to, but he doubted it was anything good.

Engaging his communication link, he sent out a message on a secure channel, “This is Optimus: detected Decepticon activity at coordinates 38° 25’ 11” N 117° 7’ 18” W, going to investigate. I may need backup.”

A moment of static, “Sideswipe here, Prime. I’m about two megacycles or so away from your current coordinates. Be there in a click. Any idea how many I should expect at the party?”

“I have detected at minimum two energy signatures, but I am concerned by their presence.”

“Loud and clear, Prime. I’ll put my sneaking shoes on; we’ll figure out what the ‘Cons are up to.”

He suppressed a sigh; the young mech’s frequent use, or misuse, of human idioms occasionally made Optimus wonder if he was just a bit too old, “Acknowledged. Optimus out.”

Sideswipe disconnected and he downshifted, dropping the noise of his engine as he coasted into the canyon, sensors sweeping out and scanning across the rocks.

There.

Up ahead a mech was crouched by the side of the road. Even if he hadn’t been able to recognize the armor, all silver pointed plates, the hitch in his chassis would have told him, the sharp twitch as his spark recognized its twin.

Megatron.

He leapt up, changing from his alt mode in an instant, but his brother didn’t look up, didn’t appear to have registered his presence. He was crouched, low and simian, bent over the body of another mech, another Decepticon. The smaller bot’s chest was open and he thought for a mad moment he’d interrupted a private interface, and startled embarrassment warred with jealousy, even though he knew it was foolish to think that Megatron would never spark-share with another, but then he realized something was wrong.

Megatron’s own chassis was tightly closed. His fanged mouth was pressed the soldier’s open chest and he appeared to be…. _tasting_ the spark? 

A shocked, aroused jolt sizzled through him at the realization. The blue-white glow illuminated the curves of Megatron’s fangs and reflected off the glass of his optics and even though he’d never in his wildest fantasies considered this type of spark play he couldn’t believe how erotic it looked. His fans kicked on and he ventilated sharply, trying to dump the swell of resultant heat as his energy field spiked embarrassingly high.

Megatron froze in his…whatever it was, head jerking up in his direction. The sound of his engine hadn’t elicited a response, but an energy pulse in his twin spark apparently garnered a reaction.

For a long moment they stared at each other. Then Megatron laughed, dropping the limp soldier in the dust beneath him and rose to his feet.

“Well Prime, I never took you for a voyeur.”

He wanted to answer, but his optics were fixed on the body of the soldier, lolling in the dirt, clearly offline, chest plates still open and he could see the spark, weak and flickering and he _realized_.

“You…you were….” He couldn’t even find words. There were no words for _this_ , this consumption, this horror.

Megatron bared his fangs, “It appears your precious Allspark is not as all-powerful as we’d like to think.”

He sounded almost bitter.

“Megatron, I don’t understand, how?”

“The only thing you need to understand,” Megatron snarled. “Is that you have interrupted me.” His optics narrowed, “But I believe you will do just as well.”

“What—?”

“You have three astroseconds to start running. I think I feel in the mood for a chase.”

“But I, you can’t be serious—” but then Megatron was on him, claws sinking into the gaps in his armor, finding anchors with the ease of familiarity and experience.

“Too late, but I believe a wrestling match may be equally satisfying.”

He tried to kick-start his processor into working as Megatron dragged him to ground.

 

In his most secret processor files, hidden and sublimated beneath layers of duty, Optimus had wanted his brother back in his arms.

But not like this.

Megatron clawed at his armor, raising weals in the paint and exposing strips of bare metal beneath. Instinct told him to fight back, to throw the other mech off of him, but his spark was pulsing in unfamiliar rhythm. There was something off here; a desperation to Megatron’s movements and an edge to his insults which didn’t fit.

Claws twisted in a sensitive bit of wiring. “Come Prime,” he taunted, “Isn’t this what you wished for? For us to be as one again?”

He ventilated, interface panel pulling back in involuntary response to the stimulation. Megatron grunted in triumph and retracted his own, engaging his spike and shoving inside him.

The pain was sharp and sudden, he wasn’t producing nearly enough lubricant yet and his valve spasmed around the embedded spike. Megatron growled and thrust into him.

He gripped his shoulders and hung on. He wasn’t wound enough to achieve overload, but the rhythm and stimulation was pleasurable despite the sting. Mostly it was the inconsistent flare of Megatron’s spark, still locked in his chassis, which had him concerned.

“Megatron—”

“Silence,” the other mech snarled. Claws rapped at his chest, “Open.”

He hesitated. The logic of his battle computer and instinctual fear warred with the desire to take his brother into himself again. Practicality said no, showed him the offline body of the mech, still only meters from where they rolled in the dust, but something else, something deeper, assured him it would be alright.

Megatron clawed at the glass of his windshield, cracking it, “Open!”

It was the undercurrent of desperation in the tone which did him in. 

_He doesn’t know how to deal with this either._

Since becoming Prime, he’d learned to trust those parts of him not so easily quantified into hardware and lines of code.

Logic circuits shrieking in protest, he engaged the command to open his chest.

 

Megatron fell upon his spark with the force of a hurricane, backstruts bowing in an impossible way. His fangs scraped against the edges of the sparkchamber and then he _pulled_.

There wasn’t much actual pain, though he expected it. His spark contracted under the strain as he was consumed by the utterly alien sensation of having energy drawn out of him. A wave of vertigo swamped him; ventilation stuttered, stalled.

And then suddenly, it stopped.

His spark pulsed and expanded beneath Megatron’s jaws, swelling with energy, flushing through him and passing into Megatron. Startled but comforted by the sudden wave, he tried to relax, to let Megatron do as he would. Warmth kindled in his circuits, strangely soothing and utterly erotic. He found himself cupping Megatron’s helm, cradling the other mech close.

Spark-sharing was nothing like this. The only sense of Megatron he could feel was the general backwash of emotion through their twin-bond, usually blocked, but now cracked and leaking with Megatron’s lack of control. Gathering the bits of his processor together, he reached out to his twin.

Guilty, greedy delight and pleasure at the feeding, twisted in a web of triumph-fear overwhelmed him. _How is this possible?_

_I do not know, but you do not need to feel guilty. I am taking no harm from this; you are welcome to all you wish._

A wave of anger and resentment crested, rip currents dragging at his processor. _You presume—!_

_I do not, but I am not blind._ He could feel the confusion, the desperation: fuel and energon alike were useless in the face of this new, unknown weakness. Somewhere beneath the troubled twist and squirm of his brother’s processor an echo came back; too-sharp optics watching him, like a turbofox which has caught the scent of spilled energon.

_Starscream._

_He will not hesitate to exploit this. And if the troops fear I am a danger to them, they will follow._ The rapid pulse and whir of a battle computer, constructing plans and just as quickly discarding them; there was no logic to be found here.

He could respect the struggle of command. Even at their worst, most antagonistic, they were the same in this.

_I can appreciate the danger of Starscream. For now, feed. I can taste your hunger. We will deal with this later._

A wave of disgust. _You are a sentimental fool._ But the exasperation didn’t stop Megatron from pressing further into him, glutting himself on energy until he was leech-replete, spark pulsing in steady rhythm. Withdrawing from Optimus's chest, Megatron observed the plates setting into their closed configuration, covering up the gleaming spark, still as bright as it had ever been.

But he didn’t remove himself from between Optimus’s legs.

He shifted beneath his twin, “Megatron?”

Megatron watched him for a moment, optics narrowed in calculation, before reaching down and gripping Optimus's leg. Hiking it over his hip strut, he thrust into him.

Involuntary ventilation, “What are you doing?”

Shifting himself into a better angle, Megatron thrust again, “In four millennia, I never left you wanting. I don’t intend to start now.”

The deep press stroked against a long-neglected sensor node and he moaned. But even as his body twisted and jerked in pleasure, his processor was whirling, presenting him with scenarios of advantage, opportunities which _must_ be taken. And while the limits and specifics of the situation must be explored further, he acknowledged he had been handed an unprecedented chance. 

“How much is it worth?”

“Is what worth?”

“Defense against any accusation which Starscream might level at you.”

Megatron paused in his movements, startled. Then he began to laugh.

“Oh Optimus, it pains me to this day that you were never one for revolution. I believe you would fit in quite well among our ranks.”

Ignoring the taunt, he pressed on, “Is it worth a ceasefire?”

“And if I refuse? Will you starve your poor, dear brother until I agree?”

Something painful twisted in his spark, but he held firm.

“And what is to stop me from simply hunting down your precious troops? Or taking a hostage from among the fleshlings?”

“Megatron, the parts of Cybertron you found objectionable are long gone. _Cybertron_ itself no longer exists, not as it once did. When will we end this? When it has come down to you and I, the last of our kind, grappling on the wasteland you would make of this planet? And for what?”

Megatron’s face darkened, “I will not return to the way things were.”

“I am not asking for that. I only ask for my brother at my side again. Is that so much?”

“You are a fool if you think a ceasefire will end this.”

“Are you saying you are incapable of controlling your troops?”

Optics blazed, “Do not push me, Optimus.”

He risked a small gesture, reaching up and stroking along the side of Megatron’s helm, “I seek to rebuild our _people_ , nothing more. Will you help me?”

“I suppose you leave me no choice.”

“It is not my wish to deny you, but I have a responsibility to others.” He arched up and contracted his valve against the invading presence inside it, “Agree, and I am yours.”

Megatron groaned at the sensation, “Don’t fool yourself, Optimus. You’ve always been mine.”

“True, but willingly. I would have it so again.”

“And you would let me parasitize your spark for the sake of our people.”

Despite the sneering tone, something in him warmed to hear Megatron say ‘our people’, “I thought to give my life for lasting peace. My body is but a small thing.” He spread himself, opening further, drawing the other mech inside him.

Megatron shook his head, but obliged and thrust, “If your troops could see you now, would they be shocked? Seducing the enemy commander, quite Decepticon-like if I do say so myself.”

“Is it working?”

Megatron thrust again, smirking, and did not answer.

It didn’t take much more, between the strange stimulation to his spark and the teasing stop-and-start rhythm of their coupling, his valve was sensitized to the point of pain. He clawed at the other mech’s back, seeking to ground himself.

“Megatron—”

But Megatron was already shifting, pushing out with his energy field, already knew to provide that final stimulus which would serve to push them over the edge… 

Overload pounced, sweeping through his body. Charge crackled across his plating, leaping between their armor and beyond the roar and squeal of electrical feedback he could hear Megatron’s triumphant snarl as he tumbled into darkness.

 

They onlined a cycle or two later, but Megatron didn’t remove himself and Optimus found he was disinclined to move as well. They lay, vents cycling as their system temperatures returned to normal, soft clink of cooling metal in the desert air, when a voice broke the silence.

“Well, I thought I’d seen every kind of diplomatic negotiation out there, but I have to admit, this is a new one.”

Startled, he jerked his head back, catching an upside-down glimpse of a mech. 

Sideswipe.

He felt Megatron tense above him and squeezed his legs shut, holding the other mech in place.

Sideswipe was approaching cautiously, weapon leveled, “You okay, Prime?”

“Thank you for your concern, Sideswipe, but I am fully functional. However I do have a favor to ask.”

“Yeah?”

“I require a messenger to pass on news of an immediate ceasefire to the troops. I will be along later to confirm, but until then I would like to prevent any incidents.”

“Can do, Prime. As long as you’re sure?”

“I am.”

Sideswipe sighed, but put away his weapon, “Ironhide’s going to blow a fuse, you know?”

“I do.”

Sideswipe eyed them, “I’m going to give you guys about a megacycle or two; if I haven’t heard back from you by then, I’m sending in reinforcements.”

“I will keep that in mind.”

Sideswipe held his position for another moment, stiff with tension, but then something loosened and he shook his head, “Good luck, Optimus.” Shifting into his alt mode, he turned with a squeal of rubber and raced off. 

Sideswipe understood, perhaps better than any other member of his forces.

Silence, dust settling in the other mech’s wake.

Megatron’s voice startled him out of his reflection, “While there is still uncertainty, I can state definitively that none of my soldiers have claimed his twin as a kill.” His tone was quiet, but unreadable.

He focused back on his brother, “That is good to know.” He looked at Megatron expectantly, “Well?”

Megatron grunted, but engaged his comlink, “Soundwave.”

An even electronic tone replied, “Acknowledged.”

“Issue a ceasefire command, effective immediately. Anyone found in violation, _regardless_ of any claims of ignorance, will be dealt with personally.”

“Affirmative. Command, issued. Soundwave out.”

Megatron pulled back, disengaging and pushing himself to his feet. Optimus shuddered slightly as he slid free and lubricant gushed to the ground, mixing with the dust. Slowly, he sat up, joints clicking as they realigned.

A hand was thrust in his face. Surprised, he glanced up at his brother, but accepted and climbed to his feet. Megatron was watching him, optics half-shuttered.

“I have one more question.”

“Yes?”

“You appeared to take no harm from our…interaction. Why?”

He reflected, allowing the idea to turn over in his processor, “I cannot be sure, but I suspect it had something to do with the Matrix.”

Megatron snorted, “That bit of Autobot superstition?”

“I believe it may have…taken on some of the aspects of the Allspark, during my own resurrection.”

“Hm, intriguing.” Megatron stepped closer, clawed hand creeping up to caress his hip, circling over the resting place of the Matrix, “Perhaps I should take it from you?”

“You may _try_.”

Megatron laughed, “Of course having that hunk of Autobot slag installed in me sounds distinctly less interesting than tracking you down for an interface.”

“Shall I put you down for an appointment sometime next decacycle?”

“So impertinent.”

“Not at all, I was merely suggesting the most efficient option, as we will be in the same vicinity.”

“Oh?”

“For the negotiations.”

“Of course. Perhaps we can schedule something before the talks, close by where your troops and fleshling pets can hear every, single, thing I do to you?”

“Tempting, though I would question the logic of performing such an act within firing range of Ironhide’s cannons.”

“Touché, Optimus. Until later then.”

“I will be in touch.”

Stepping back, Megatron smirked at him and launched himself into the air, shifting into his alt mode and streaking off across the sky. He watched the sparkling trail left by his brother, a Cybertronian jet still, more beautiful than any Earth-made plane.

For a moment he allowed himself to remember the past, to reflect on what could have been, a sharp sad tug on his spark, but then he shook himself from remembrance and turned towards human civilization.

The past was behind them, but the future, a future beyond the possibilities of his twin’s death or his own, lay before them.


End file.
